“It is a little known fact that
Benjamin Franklin’s eldest
son was treated for an
extreme fear of electricity.”
—from a book in my dream last night

Ben Franklin
(sexy nerd!)
though I Love
him so
did NOT
invent the
lollipop
alas

but he once
told them all if
we don’t hang
together we will
certainly hang
together

some poets need
to hear this
their lack of
generosity
to protect
imaginary
careers
is so
damned
boring

cross Ben
Franklin Bridge with
the American poet
Frank Sherlock
the plaque reads:

       IN MEMORY
        OF THOSE
WHO LOST THEIR LIVES
   IN THE BUILDING
    OF THIS BRIDGE

accountants
factored in funeral
costs with final
bill of sale

when will the
rich be expendable?!
our ancestors
failed us in
this battle
(must we fail
another generation?)

who is shit
on bottom of
whose shoe?

raise HIGH
the national
shoe emblem!

body bags sent
ahead of this
war’s soldiers and
the next

“you should dye
your gray hairs”
old friend instructs

no way!
have a little grace
let the body
have it’s say

another
cold dent
in the
seed

NO APOLOGIES!
NO Mary
Poppins HERE!
working Elvis into
everything is easy
but not enough
books to duplicate
this bookstore smell
at home unless I press
my ass into the shelves
crack a licked bottom of
Kafka’s CASTLE
let it
open
up
inside me

“WHAT!? $100!? DO
YOU KNOW HOW MANY
DICKS I’VE GOT TO
SUCK TO MAKE $100!?”
—drag queen on corner of 13th & Spruce last night

everyone’s good
old days smells
of a purer state
of tyranny

it’s always
in there
whispering with
a face pointed
to the sun

I’m convinced the
distance some people
travel away from
themselves can be
measured by the
size of their
televisions

meanwhile
arguments with
boyfriends have
distracted me
from the
terror of an
ever expanding
universe (night
sky stretch
mark zodiac)

laying
around listening
to old music
only reminds
me of
laying
around listening
to new music

a resigned victim to
the events drinking
a carton of milk he
will dream of
what tonight?

in the library
all these books
were new once
their authors
excited except
Emily Dickinson
of course

I eagerly
bend over
far for
Octavio
Paz probes
the polarity of
the world

we left Philadelphia
by way of the
Internet

Sherlock told me
where to find
Anselm’s babysitter
poem running and
running from
babysitter creep

death runs fast
on e-mail (click)
WHALEN IS DEAD!

nothing’s what it
could’ve been and
let’s NOT feel
okay with that!

refuse it!
send it back!

learn ignoring
dark beyond open
door or draping
eye with lid

a Linden
tree hummed
at me (if I
vomit it’s my
shock switching
to joy a bit
too quickly)